Sex Bomb
by TraditionalGaily
Summary: In which Team Buccellati faces a unique oponent. 30 minutes gone and the hide out has turned into something resembling a nsfw sleepover party. An unforgettable, dignity challenging experience to say the least. But they agreed on never talking about it again.


"What the hell is going on here?!"

It is not usual for Buccellati to shout at his subordinates upon entering.  
Well, actually it is quite common.  
To ascertain his dominance as pack leader.  
Or to keep them from notoriously killing each other.  
After years of experience with the squabbling lot he was pretty sure he was shock proof.  
He was proven wrong.

Fugo and Narancia entangled.  
And for the first time as their capo he wished they'd been fighting rolling on the floor like this.  
Alas they weren't.  
The sound of Fugo roaring in bliss with Narancia straddling him made him cringe and his eyes darted over to the double-headed jolting monstrosity that had to be Giorno underneath his messy blond locks and Mista minus his trademark cap, by default.

"Bucce..." Giorno eventually uttered between thrusts, nails buried in the old rag while Mista belled like a stag in an all-female cervine forest.

God, he couldn't bring himself to look.

"Explanation! Now!" Buccellati barked which earned him a split second of attention from the four love birds before they continued without missing a beat.  
Or thrust.  
Or swallow.

He shuddered and closed his eyes in a futile attempt to wipe clean his memory of sights not to behold before a mid-morning coffee.  
And Mista's and Giorno's orgasm faces were sure to haunt him in the darkest hours of the night.  
That and the strange screeching sound escaping Narancia as he was caught by a Fugo soon to reach his climax as well.  
And the strangled moans Fugo produced would probably haunt him too.  
That and Mista lifting up Girono's legs for a second round.  
Or Fugo and Narancia demonstrating their versatility as they switched positions.

Buccellati stared at some distant point unable to face the panting and groaning mess fornicating on the carpet he refused to identify as his team.  
30 minutes he'd been gone...  
He wasn't still processing things as the symphony of screams heralded act 2.  
He felt utterly defeated.  
He was at a loss.

Like every leader he encouraged those 'get-to-know-your-team-mates-better' moments.  
But this was unacceptable.

"For fuck's sake enough of this," Buccellati ordered louder than intended, "Will someone please tell me, what the fuck is going on?!"

It didn't have the desired effect.

They froze in mid-shove.

And as much as he usually enjoyed it, this time it felt weird becoming their centre of attention.

The four pair of eyes now resting on him were glazed over in a way Buccellati hadn't seen before, well of course he'd seen it before but the wielder was usually a)a one-off thing dressed down to her bra and panties waiting expectantly on his bed if it had been a really lonely week; but more importantly b)not part of his team.

They shared the same air of sweet realisation as they stared up to Buccellati as if seeing him for the first time. The enrapturing discovery of what a handsome man they'd worked under for the past years without even noticing.  
It made Buccellati uncomfortable.  
And inexplicably angry.

"The fuck you're looking at," he growled hands clenching into fists on their own accord.  
He couldn't help but feeling pissed off.  
And that pissed him off further.

Mista, he would have understood. He knew what a horny fucker lay dormant underneath the no-worries attitude of that no-brainer.  
And the few days he'd spent with Giorno hadn't been enough to thoroughly evaluate his sexual appetite. He did look the alluring ephebos part with his ethereal beauty and his long blond locks, though. Some sort of lesser demon; the offspring of an unfortunate woman and a malevolent incubus, albeit he hadn't behaved like one.  
So far.  
Or that was just him being 15.

Buccellati watched the long-lashed eyes snap open, Mista hitting a good spot apparently, and bit his lower lip in frustration.

Fuck Giorno.  
Fuck Mista.  
And by all means, fuck Narancia, that pining after every bit of skirt but still not getting any kind of bastard.  
Fuck all of them.  
Only he didn't mean that literally.

But Fugo...

Buccellati had lost.  
He felt like he had lost something he never knew he even cared about, but now defeat was eating away at his guts, his intestines melting in a pool of acid.  
And it filled him with anger.  
Inappropriate, childish, uncalled for anger.

"I asked you a fucking question, you useless, fucking piece of sh..."

Something was wrong.  
No, just about everything about this situation was wrong, but within this wrong there was an even greater wrong.  
Something was missing the last sane thought, pushed against a wall by his Inconsiderate Anger teaming up with Rampaging Libido and, to his shame, Jealousy, told him.  
Not something, but...

"Where the hell are Trish and Abbacchio?!"

"He..."  
Giorno was the most talkative during sex evidently. Even if his mouth was currently occupied by an indelicate part belonging to Narancia.

"She is...the turtle...Abbacchio took the turtle..."

An image formed in Buccellati's mind.  
It wasn't a pleasant one.

Obscene curses and uncommon vituperation Buccellati hadn't used in years echoed through the corridors of the run-down apartment he had chosen as their temporary hide-out.  
He'd been brought up by the sea side so he knew how to cuss properly.

And if suspecting his most loyal subordinate to have a go at the girl they were supposed to guard wasn't an occasion to use that kind of language, what was?

"Open the door!"

Finding the right room hadn't been hard.  
It was the only one locked.  
And someone was breathing heavily behind it.

"Go away," came Abbacchio's muffled reply in between deep breaths.

"Open the door right now, or I'll swear I'll fucking murder you, sodomise your corpse and scatter your remains all over Sicilia you cross-bred bastard of a heart urchin and a sea cucumber!"

Buccellati was shocked at his own choice of words. And volume.  
He hated losing his temper like this.

"Please...don't come in..."

Abbacchio was pleading, but multiple zippers placed on the door disintegrated the barrier.

"Let go off..."

But against Buccellati's expectations there was no one to free from underneath Abbacchio, as the latter was leaning against the wall and fully clothed too.  
Trademark black slacks bulging slightly on the crotch side, though.

"Where is..."

"Inside the turtle...and the turtle is locked...up in the wardrobe in the next...room, doors facing the wall so...she can't get out and neither can anyone...get in..."

There were a lot of pauses in between words; Abbacchio spoke slowly as if in unbearable pain.  
And with his erection tortured in the tight imprisonment of his pants who could blame him, Buccellati found himself musing.

Guiltily he looked back up and was now fully questioning his heterosexuality.  
The confused-somewhat horny look Abbacchio shot him didn't help.

"What the fuck is going on?!" Buccellati snarled hotly and wondered if he'd ever used the word fuck while addressing Abbacchio before.  
And wondered why it felt so right.

Abbacchio told him.

To have Giorno trash-talking Fugo for once had been fucking hilarious.  
Especially with Narancia joining in shortly after.  
And Mista ready to swoop in at any pointless squabble.  
Though concern had risen within Abbacchio when Giorno had switched from cursing and shouting at Fugo to French kissing him. Concern and he'd been utterly disgusted.  
Especially with Narancia and Mista following their example.  
Only he had been quick enough on the uptake to lock Trish up somewhere and keep as far away from the others as possible as he was, albeit more slowly, affected as well.

"It starts off as...fury, hate...inexplicable loathing and for fuck's sake if you ask me how I'd spot the difference then, I'm gonna punch you so hard..."

Buccellati bit his lip and gave a brief, innocent smile to prove he wasn't going to say that.

"...which blends into arousal and suddenly you feel horny as fuck and your world revolves around what to mount, or better yet what not to since it's the shorter list and oh my God you'd better step back a few paces or I won't be responsible for my actions..."

How had they ended up this close?  
Abbacchio's face was now only inches away from his own and Buccellati fought back the urge to lean over and kiss those gorgeous lips until they were swollen and sore.

"Get the fuck out of here, Bruno," Abbacchio purred and reached for Buccellati's face, thumb rubbing experimentally over the pouting lips he was about to seal, "before it gets to you too..."

A shiver ran down Buccellati's spine and he was still undecided if it was the equal amount of awe and fear being flirted with so shamelessly by Abbacchio or the use of his first name that sounded oh so sweet when whispered by those black lips.  
He ventured for probably both.

"Too late..." Buccellati croaked and motioned with an embarrassed smile downwards at his now ill-fitting pants.

Then they collided.

"What...the fuck is happening?" Buccellati stuttered once he'd regained enough self control to pull away.  
It hadn't been easy.  
If the kiss of death was only half as alluring as Abbacchio's he'd be willing to let himself be claimed by the grim reaper any minute now...

Great, he noted as lips merged after the straining intermission apart, now it was affecting his common sense as well...

Abbacchio pushed Buccellati away for a distraction-free explanation.

"It's a Stand user," he panted, hand resting against the door frame oh so macho.  
"It has to be...I heard...there were rumours...something about fucking to death, but I...I put that down to wishful thinking..."

It was futile though; only half way through Buccellati had charged in his desperation and they had ended up on the floor kissing and caressing parts unexplored.

"I'm so sorry," Buccellati whispered as he zipped himself to the floor so Abbacchio could get away a few paces. Less than he had hoped, though...

"Pheromones..."

Abbacchio groaned, beads of sweat forming on his temples at the sight of a willing and zipped down Buccellati.

"It sprays you with sex pheromones and hormones, or similar weird shit...so you're too randy to fight or even care you're under attack...only a matter of time until you can't control your Stand properly...

As if on cue, Buccellati watched the zippers restraining him, for matters of decency, break and rip one by one.

Sticky Fingers looked as perplexed as his user before vanishing into thin air.  
And wouldn't let himself be lured back out.

"Fuck," Buccellati mouthed and Abbacchio rolled his eyes, helping him up.

Then they tried to gain as much distance as possible, holding onto furniture in the process or looking up at the ceiling to keep themselves from crashing into the other again.  
The other who was getting more attractive by the minute and had never before looked that invitingly ruttish and needy...

"Giorno was first because he is the youngest. That's why it got me last..."

Abbacchio was on his hands and knees now, unable to support his weight shaking and trembling; his voice a seductive whisper interjected by pleasurable moans and hums.  
Buccellati would have enjoyed the view, but he kept his eyes shut, nails digging into the doorframe and pretended that his dick wasn't about to rip open his pants by sheer virility.  
While usually concentrating, hoping, or praying if he wanted to impress someone special, to last longer all he wished for right now was a quick release to get it over with...

"And Trish..."

"Don't know...perhaps girls are better at hiding their arousal...the hell should I know...it's useless, it won't go away that way..."

The last part was aimed at Buccellati rubbing himself through his trousers.

"You can't even beat of properly, it will spring back to attention again and again..."

Just the thought of Abbacchio masturbating over and over in here, all alone, made Buccellati whine because he'd been left out of the fun.  
And he felt awkward for it and wanted to apologise but all he could do in this state was moan unabashedly.  
So he put his hand over his mouth to restore what little dignity he had left.

"Sex Bomb...it is fittingly called..."

"Like this catchy tune...you know...the Tom Jones song?" Buccellati wiped drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Only more contagious and impossible to forget..."

Abbacchio, admitting defeat to Libido taking over the reins, had crawled across the floor hesitantly.  
In his defence, the last bit of shame in him kept him from pouncing on Buccellati, clothes flying. Instead he grabbed Buccellati's wrists.

"Do you have to look so needy when you do this?"

Again they collided.

"We have to...help...no, we have to fight this with the others..." Buccellati eventually admitted, mouth temporarily vacant.

Abbacchio agreed, if that was what he meant by smothering him with kisses.  
Then as if remembering something, he pulled away frowning.

"Heart urchin and sea cucumber?"

"A friend of my father's," Buccellati was catching his breath and fidgeting with the hair clip that had come loose during their first stage cuddle, "his wife was pretty strict, catholic down to the roots and so on..."  
Unfortunately the story would stay untold as Abbacchio had lunged at Buccellati again.

* * *

They made their way over to the living room.  
Eventually.  
Somehow.  
Let's just say one corridor is a lot harder to pass when doing so rolling on the floor making out.  
And mounting each other, playfully dry-humping away in alteration.

Against all expectations the fun-for-the-whole-team-party greeting upon entering had worsened.  
It shouldn't be possible.  
But it was.

Buccellati was shocked; Abbacchio too, but it was harder to tell with his face somewhere buried between the formers thighs; impatiently disrobing him.

"Mista," Buccellati said as earnest as his rampaging libido would let him, "you're in a four-way..."

This was shrugged off half-heartedly before Mista went down on Fugo again while heavily spooning Giorno.

"May God have mercy on us..." Abbacchio mumbled into Buccellati's thighs.

Buccellati paled.

They didn't join the rest.  
Well, actually they didn't _want_ to join the rest, but ended up flanked by two sex-crazed teenagers on either side.  
And they would have shared; the teens would have loved to share Buccellati, no doubt. The way they greedily kissed and bit their way across his exposed skin; forces joined they had him undressed in no time at all.  
And to his shame all their capo could think about was why they hadn't done this earlier.

Again, they _would_ have taken turns, but Abbacchio proved to be the clingy type.  
So nothing more forward than French kissing would be tolerated while he had a go on their enraptured leader.

"...we should...probably...I mean..."

Buccellati removed Abbacchio's belt from underneath his ass he had been uncomfortably lying on until now (God, now with the capital 'A' imprint on his ass cheek Abbacchio had physically called dips).  
It was delightful and he felt so fucking high and well-cared for, and damn did Abbacchio take good care of him, but he couldn't stay like this.  
They couldn't stay like this.  
It was draining them, not only in a physical sense.  
And the disquieting nagging thought how soon the enemy would strike.

"What exactly...I...when does the user...ah-hm..."

"...when and how does he kill..." Buccellati finished after Abbacchio had, well, finished him.

"He doesn't," Abbacchio whispered as he flipped Buccellati onto his stomach and buried his fists in his messy hair, "it's the Stand that...kills..."

"How..." Buccellati mouthed and then screamed because Abbacchio knew which spots to hit.

"It...it's just not physically possible to...fuck someone to death, right..." he screamed shaking uncontrollably.

"Why...not..."  
Fugo spoke up as Giorno got down from his lap and Mista took his place.

"...it is tiring, it's physically demanding...strains your breathing and makes your heart rate go haywire..."

"...I don't think...well..."

"...we'll see about that...anyway, _we_ will see...you and your goth boyfriend are the first ones to go...you know...heart condition, old people..."

One thing for sure, nothing could rid Fugo of his sass.

"I'm...like a few years older than you...so"

Buccellati looked over his shoulder for support just about as Abbacchio pulled free from a long-drawn kiss.  
With the newbie.

"...and oh God I'm lusting after Giorno, will someone please kill me this instant," Abbacchio muttered upon realisation.

"Tempting..." Fugo hissed and then screamed as Mista was spanking him.

"Plan...anyone?" Buccellati tried before moaning like an animal.

Silence reigned.  
Ok, it wasn't really quiet; there were immodest noises and the like.  
Let's settle for no word was uttered but a dear one's name.

Giorno was the first to suggest something.

"When Narancia was..."

Sloppy kiss done he continued.

"There was...uh, a short interval immediately after he had finished copulating that the outlines of his Stand became visible..."

'Oh Giorno', Buccellati thought as Abbacchio yanked his hair, 'still so formal and eloquent. Still using words like 'copulate' while getting his ass pounded by three out of five of the team'.  
'Nerd', and still it made Bucciarati's cravings go haywire and the only reason why he hadn't straight up leapt into Giorno's arms was due to Abbacchio maintaining a tight grip around his waist.

"I think..."

Here Giorno paused until Narancia was done French kissing him.

"...it's got something to do with the release part. An orgasm is also a chemical process during which...yeah, Mista...ah...certain hormones increase in level...what are they called?..."

"Endorphines...Oxytocin...how the hell should I know?!" Bucciarati exclaimed during the greedy gulps of air before his lips merged with Abbacchio's again.

"Anyway...I think we need to concentrate on these seconds, if...it somewhat overshadows the enemy Stand's influence, so...for a brief interval only we could...strike back and..."

Buccellati understood.

"Narancia, after you...well, bring out Aerosmith as soon as possible..."

Even rutting shamelessly against Abbacchio and he couldn't say it.  
It was just too embarrassing.

A glimpse of the radar was all he needed.

"Behind the wall...just about there..." Narancia motioned before his hand found his way back into Giorno's hair who hummed delightedly in return.  
"...and boy all our breathing is wrecked...Abbacchio is sure to kick the bucket first..."

"Fuck...all of you..." the growl came from somewhere underneath the wild silver strands.

Mista paused at slapping Giorno's reddening butt cheeks.

"Is that a promise?"

"Nah...he, wouldn't make it..." Fugo sniggered.

"So the enemy is nearby..." Buccellati panted, "I need to get closer to that wall, to..."

Again, closing short distances while stumbling over each other can be a strain.  
Doing so while being on all fours is almost impossible.  
Still Abbacchio and Buccellati made it to the wall, eventually.

Now it was only a matter of timing.

"Are you ready for your orgasm?" Abbacchio whispered into Buccellati's neck before sinking his teeth back in.

"This has to be the strangest question ever posed during sex," Buccellati moaned in reply, concentrating on that white hot feeling if he was to call out Sticky Fingers.

"Meh, had worse."

Of course it was Mista.

"'Is burgundy really the right choice for a kitchen wall?' 'What is the collective noun for koala?'"

"Will you please shut up," Abbacchio growled, but it wasn't necessary as Buccellati was already seeing stars and clouds and celestial bodies of different shapes and sizes.

"Sticky Fingers!"

The sound of various zippers opening and a chunk of masonry fell over before Sticky Fingers vanished into thin air.  
Dimmed lights falling through the disintegrated wall, a shape became fairly visible through the settling dust.

Normally Buccellati would have felt somewhat ashamed for facing an enemy like that.  
But he was too busy praising what Abbacchio could do with his tongue.

It took a while to get Sticky Fingers out again for a close combat.  
Longer than expected even.  
But it was kind of hard getting into the right mood with the background cackle coming from the next room (was that old pervert really watching them?).  
Also Buccellati had made the mistake of looking at the Stand, hence the bizarre thing in violently clashing colours covered in lipstick marks from ugly head to peep-toes.  
Strangely paradoxical how his powers were enhancing sexual appetite when it looked like the embodiment of erectile dysfunction.

Again with the timing.

With a brief Gold Experience diversion (God, he'd never thought of moaning in sync with Giorno), Buccellati was able to get within two meters of Sex Bomb and his disappointingly unappealing user.  
And only inches separated from unzipping the latter's head.  
But then he heard it.

"Love Struck!"

And Buccellati screamed.

A special attack, he figured once his vision had come back and the ringing in the ears had died down.

Sex Bomb had grabbed his Stand, he'd felt that via the physical bond they shared.  
That and what must have been the most intense orgasm of his life.  
And it hadn't been a pleasant one...

Shaking and panting Buccellati reached for his heart, expecting it to have ceased beating under the sheer force of his climax.  
He hurt all over, but more importantly he wasn't too sure he'd be able to call out his Stand in his condition.

Buccellati needn't worry, though, as to his shock Sticky Fingers staggered back through the zipped open entrance.  
Well, he could worry a bit though, as Sticky Fingers wouldn't return to him, no longer obeying his command (neither mentally given nor screamed at the top of his lungs), but grab Abbacchio by his shoulders, pulling him upwards.

Ok, not really pulling so much _to_ as _from_, Buccellati figured as the slick shiny figure of Moody Blues was freed by his Stand.  
And immediately grabbed and hugged.  
And like user, like Stand, both Sticky Fingers and Moody Blues soon were entangled in the Stand equivalent of foreplay.  
So his Stand could force out other Stands, learned something new there, he thought, but mainly Buccellati thought about how not to die of a heart attack within the next twenty minutes.  
Ten; fine, ten minutes given Abbacchio's skills.

"We can't touch him..." Buccellati deducted and finished with a row of 'Fuck' increasing in volume aimed at his rendered useless Stand romping around on the carpet.

"You stupid fucking, worthless..."

"Hey, don't be harsh on Abbacchio, he tires easily, in fact he's doing quite well, considering his age..." Fugo giggled.

"...fucking horny...thing..."

Sticky Fingers wasn't disturbed the least by his user's rant, straddling Moody Blues still love-struck.  
Someone else was bothered though and a hand placed over his mouth finished Buccellati's obscene cussing.

"You are so damn hot when you..."

Abbacchio pulled Buccellati into his lap, the latter raking over his back in return.

"...swear like that...fuck, you want me to die first, do you?..."

His senses dwindling from exhaustion, Buccellati could hear the pants and groans. Still going, still increasing in volume  
Lucky teenagers...

"...so...plan?" Giorno asked sounding somewhat concerned.

And Buccellati was frank.  
"I have none...we...can't...reach him like that..."

Not the reassuring speech they had expected from their capo.

"So...we're to die like that?"

"Could be, Narancia..."

"There are worse ways to go, though."

Mista's optimism was hot, Buccellati thought, but so was the mortar crumbling off the walls and the by now stained rug underneath them given his state of mind.  
Sex-drive overload; yep, they were going to die.

"At least you're dying in my arms..." Abbacchio purred in ecstasy.

"Please, I don't want to go retching..." Fugo snarled back.

* * *

The man watching from the shadows of the adjacent room was pleased.  
Not only was he to defeat Buccellati and his team, but he'd do so in a mortifying way.  
And perhaps that would earn Francesco Ricciarelli and his Stand 'Sex Bomb' the respect they deserved.

A shadow approached the make-shift entrance.

Ricciarelli adjusted his glasses and watched the Stand, mostly held in violet, with interest.

So they hadn't given up yet, he noted bemusedly and gave the command.

"Love Struck!"

Something was wrong, though.  
Because the thing drooling behind its visor just kept staring straight ahead at him.  
As if it weren't in the least bit affected by his Sex Bomb's second ability.

That wasn't entirely true.  
The attack did work.  
Purple Haze was many things, but smart wasn't among them.  
So, yes, he did feel perplexed and confused when Sex Bomb increased his grip, but...  
Well, it didn't differ that much from his usual state of mind.

He was used to feeling strange and also knew that weird feeling burning in his guts all too well.  
Love has a violent nature to it.  
And at least Purple Haze knew how to handle that part...

It was over so quickly, it almost seemed unfair.  
Unfortunately Sex Bomb was not cut out for close combat and so a final gurgle from his melting user ended this strange encounter.

And getting back to normal...

Awkward coughs filled the room and clothes were retrieved and handed back to their owners while maintaining as little eye-, let alone body- contact as possible.

The effect had died down as quickly as it had arisen.  
Leaving not a trace of the fight, but the hickeys and love bites adorning every ones' necks.

"Well, at least we got that out of our systems..."

Fucking Buccellati and his sense for leadership.  
Longer strands usually tied into a braid loosely entangled in his messy hair; suit all crinkled and missing a few buttons he had impatiently ripped, because he couldn't wait to get it off...and still he looked like a young god.

Abbacchio blamed this on Sex Bomb's after effects.  
That and his dwindling heterosexuality.  
He couldn't dwell on his questionable affection for Buccellati, though.

"What the hell is going on?"

All eyes turned to Trish.  
A particular Trish, not yet encountered before.  
Angry, blood thirst shimmering in her eyes and more prominently with a bump on her forehead.  
Since someone had placed her inside a wardrobe while she had been asleep inside the turtle, so she'd hit her head while trying to get out.  
And placed said wardrobe against a wall, thank you very much.  
And how could they have missed her screaming and calling for help?

"What have you been doing?"

Gulps and eyes inspecting the rug's colourful pattern, now slightly more worn-down.

"Team bonding," Buccellati answered dryly and Abbacchio admired him for the earnest face he pulled it off with.

"Boring old, male bonding. Nothing special there. And you slept well, I hope?"

"Yes, like a log" Trish feigned a yawn.  
And because she was as good as hiding her embarrassment as Buccellati she didn't blush, recalling what she'd been doing for the past thirty minutes...

* * *

**A/N:** In my humble opinion, the collective noun for koalas should be 'a sleep over' of koalas...


End file.
